Giving
by D.L. SchizoAuthoress
Summary: sequel to 'Tricking and Treating' [COMPLETE, 5 of 5] Thanksgiving at the Hall house wasn't as perfect as Fulton and Jesse had hoped, but now Christmas looms over them as well...
1. Of a bad haircut, poison, and kangaroos

A/N: It's ba-aack! The inspirations, the 'illogical' pairing--although, in my mind, if nothing negates the pairing, it's logical--and of course, the half-coherent German diatribes. Speaking of which:  
  
Star, danke für die zwölf weiteren Inspirationen. "Bees love you for that reason"? "You've made it easy to love to hate you"? Ich könnte nicht sie wiederholen in der zweiten Fiktion.   
  
^_^ I love my German translator.  
  
Takes place in the same year as "Tricking and Treating," just about a month later.  
  
****  
  
Inspiration: Poison / A bad haircut / A kangaroo  
  
****  
  
"Giving"  
  
Fulton stood on the Halls' front stoop, almost as scared as he had ever been. Neither he nor Jesse had said a word about what had happened at Halloween to anyone, but Fulton was still irrationally nervous about spending Thanksgiving with Jesse's family. What if he accidentally let slip one of the events of the previous month? What if they figured it out? What if they hated him?   
  
'Goddammit,' he cursed to himself, 'you're not helping anything by standing out here and freezing your ass off.'  
  
Thankfully, Jesse was the one who answered the door after he'd rung the doorbell. For some reason, the other thirteen-year-old was struggling to suppress laughter; his dark eyes sparkled with tears of mirth and stray snickers managed to escape. "Hi, Fulton," he said, then dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Don't say anything, but Terry just got this awful haircut. The barber shaved a couple bald patches out of his hair, and Dad's chasing Terry around the house, threatening to shave him bald."  
  
Fulton grinned, "So, they're distracted?"  
  
Jesse nodded, but he said, "Don't even think it, man. Mom'll show up in three seconds, just watch."  
  
Upon Fulton crossing the threshold, Jesse was proved correct as his mother suddenly waltzed out of the kitchen crying, "Fulton! Hello!" She shifted the mixing bowl she held to her left hand and shook Fulton's enthusiastically. "It's so nice of you to come for Thanksgiving!"  
  
"Hey, Mom, cool it," Jesse intervened, noticing the slightly shell-shocked expression on Fulton's face, "you're spazzing again."  
  
"Am I? I'm sorry, honey." Mrs. Hall smiled apologetically and turned to go back into the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, "Make yourself at home, Fulton, Terry's friends certainly have."  
  
Jesse grabbed Fulton's elbow and led him up the stairs. He was still smiling widely. "See? It's like she has these special censors in her brain that activate when a guest walks in. And Terry had to invite about three of his 'best friends,' so we've got dweeb alert in full effect, Fulton."  
  
"I got ya covered," Fulton told him, "We can slip a little cyanide in their stuffing. No more dweebs."  
  
Jesse lifted an eyebrow, "And /who/ would make an excellent mobster now?"  
  
"We can be mobsters together!" Fulton proclaimed, slinging an arm around Jesse's shoulder and tugging him closer. "It'll be fun, Jess!"  
  
They went into Jesse's room and shut the door. Once their relative solitude was established, Fulton leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Jesse's lips. Jesse smiled again and kissed him back. "If we're gonna be mobsters together, can we off Larson and McGill?"  
  
Fulton chuckled. "Why not? Then we can run away to Australia."  
  
"Australia?" Jesse repeated. "Why Australia?"  
  
"I've always wanted to see real, live koalas...and kangaroos." Fulton replied. Jesse looked at him in silence, trying to determine how serious he was being.   
  
"Dude, have you never been in a zoo?"  
  
END PART ONE 


	2. summer break, rather gay hair, & poison

A/N: I told you I'd be back. Or, actually, maybe I didn't, but y'all know I can't stay away forever. I'm angsted-out at the moment (it's strange, but I can't write depressing stuff when I AM depressed...), so here comes the fluff.  
  
****  
  
Inspiration: An accusation of having 'rather gay hair' / Summer holidays / Poison   
  
****  
  
"Giving, Part Two"  
  
Fulton shrugged. "Zoos aren't the same. It's like...watching the broadcast of the New Years celebration versus being in New York City."  
  
"Ah." Jesse nodded. Fulton's reasoning was almost always easy to understand, and in this case, Jesse agreed with him. "Maybe we can blackmail Banksie into taking us, over summer vacation or something."  
  
"Do we /have/ blackmail on Banks?" Fulton wondered.   
  
Jesse smiled. "Fulton, Fulton, Fulton...we can /make/ blackmail. We just need to get Banks into an embarrassing situation--wearing a tutu, singing ABBA, crying over a chick flick...and have evidence, like a picture or a tape-recording, and 'ta-da!' Blackmail."  
  
Fulton laughed, wrapping his arms around Jesse in a tight, possessive hug. "That settles it. You're mine now."  
  
"I'm what?" Jesse asked.  
  
"Mine." Fulton murmured softly, "Not gonna let you go now, Jesse Hall. You're too perfect to give up."  
  
"Aw, Fulton..." Jesse whispered in a choked voice, "That's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me..."  
  
They stayed like that for a while, and then Fulton said,  
  
"So, Jess. Where does your mom keep the rat poision?"  
  
And Jesse hit him with a pillow.  
  
****  
  
"You have to admit, Terry, your hair is rather gay."   
  
"Shut up, Josh!" Terry whined, pulling the stockingcap even further down on his head. He had wedged himself between the couch and the barcalounger with his knees up to his chest and his hands over his head, thereby resisting all efforts from his father and his three friends--Josh, Marcus, and Sammy--to take an electric razor to his head.   
  
For their part, Fulton and Jesse took offense at Josh's assessment of Terry's hair and summarily lifted the young boy by both arms and tossed him out the back door. This amused the Halls and their visitors to no end, especially when Jesse informed Josh that he was staying outside until he decided to "learn some manners, ya rock-dumb albino monkey!" (In fact, Mrs. Hall let the boy in after only ten minutes.)  
  
In the meantime, entertainment was more sedate as Fulton managed to coax Terry out of hiding--something about letting Terry borrow his Fantastic Four comics--and Mr. Hall, having decided that enough was enough, finally did yank Terry by his collar into the bathroom. It took some more bargaining, but in due time both of them emerged considerably balder.   
  
After the traditional viewing of "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving"--no one in the house had even entertained the thought of watching football--Mrs. Hall announced that dinner was ready.   
  
The boys hung back for a minute. Fulton gazed appealingly at Jesse, but Jesse hissed,   
  
"No poison! My parents like you, but if you start talking about murdering people in our house, they'll kick you out."  
  
Fulton merely pouted in response, and Jesse fled for the dining room before he could be swayed.  
  
**End Part Two** 


	3. green JellO, a pathological fear of wind...

A/N: You'll forgive me if this is all way too late, right? I mean, Christmas is over and I haven't even finished this Thanksgiving story... ::sigh:: Anyway, if you guys were wondering, for 'Inspirations,' I'm operating on the timeline suggested by Eriks: in short, the Ducks are in eighth grade or thereabouts during the first movie, and only one year passes between movies (years passed are 1992-1994). This is different from 'Spirals,' which follows the movie release dates, putting two years between the movies (trilogy spans 1992-1996). Now that you are all certifiably confused, enjoy the chapter.  
  
****  
  
Inspirations: Green jello / A pathalogical fear of window envelopes / Lime green underwear  
  
****  
  
"Giving, Part Three"  
  
"Why don't we go around the table and say what we're thankful for?" Mrs. Hall suggested cheerfully. The question was met by an exaggerated eye-roll from Mr. Hall and groans from Terry and Jesse. She ignored them gracefully, announcing, "Well, I'll start then. I'm thankful that my family is here and that we are all healthy..." her eyes shifted to her husband, and some dark emotion passed over her smiling features for a moment before she finished, "and happy."  
  
While Terry's friends were oblivious, neither Mr. Hall nor Jesse, Fulton, and Terry missed the sarcasm in Mrs. Hall's last words. Terry blushed and suddenly became amazingly focused on smoothing his napkin over his lap. Jesse scowled down at his plate. Mr. Hall grumbled out,   
  
"Yes, and I'm thankful that you cooked the meal for us, Marilyn." A tense smile crept onto his face. "It's as nice as last year's."  
  
Marilyn Hall's jaw clenched slightly as she nodded in acknowledgement. "Terry? You go next."  
  
"Um?" Terry blinked, classic deer-in-the-headlights mentality taking hold of him. "I'm thankful for...for...hockey."  
  
"Hockey?" His mother repeated sweetly, too sweetly. Terry added quickly,   
  
"Yeah, and...and the friends I made playing hockey this year." This amendment met with Mrs. Hall's approval, and Terry was off the hook. Terry immediately passed the buck to Marcus, hoping to break the rapidly mounting tension.  
  
"Oh, I'm thankful that my grandmother is getting better." Marcus informed them. "She had a stroke about six months ago, but she's okay now." And a small break was taken as everyone expressed relief that this old woman that hardly any of them knew was not dead.  
  
Josh went next, saying, "I'm thankful it wasn't snowing today," and shot a nasty, accusing look at Jesse and Fulton.   
  
Fulton smiled at him innocently, getting a warning kick from Jesse, who mouthed, 'No evil plotting!' Fulton lifted an eyebrow as if to ask, 'Who, me?' and took a sip from his water glass.  
  
Jesse said, "I'm thankful that the Ducks are all in the same school district, and that we'll be staying together until we get out of high school."   
  
Sammy told them that he was thankful for his dad's medical discharge from the Army. "Now we won't be moving around so much," he explained, beaming with delight, "and I can stay in the same school as /my/ friends, too."  
  
Fulton felt all eyes turn to him, and he ducked his head. "I'm, um, thankful that I could share Thanksgiving with all of you," he mumbled in the general direction of the tablecloth. Mrs. Hall smiled.  
  
"We're glad to have you, Fulton."  
  
"Let's eat!" Jesse said, diverting attention from Fulton. He knew that Mr. Reed had been invited by his rich brother to go skiing--just the four of them, Fulton's parents and aunt and uncle--at Sun Valley in Idaho. If he hadn't invited Fulton to dinner and a sleepover, the young teen would have been heating up a TV dinner and watching another one of those sitcom marathons.  
  
The dishes were passed around: sliced turkey, mashed potatoes, slightly lumpy brown gravy, stuffing that Fulton immediately recognized as Stove-Top, and Jell-O. "There were absolutely /no more/ cans of cranberry sauce at the supermarket," Mrs. Hall explained apologetically.  
  
"That's okay, Mrs. Hall," Marcus replied, "We like Jell-O."  
  
Fulton whispered to Jesse, "It's almost the same color as your lime-green underwear," and got another kick from him in response.  
  
****  
  
"Something else I'm thankful for..." Terry muttered after dinner, when the parents were busy clearing the table and doing the dishes, "No mail on Thanksgiving. No bills."  
  
"Terry has a pathological fear of window envelopes," Jesse told Fulton solemnly.  
  
"Well, so would he if his parents always fought over the phone bill, the credit card bill, the heating bill, the electrical bill, the water bill..."   
  
Fulton held up a hand to forestall any more examples from Terry. "I get the picture. And believe me, there's some bitter bickering over the credit cards among the Reeds...as much as among the Halls, Terr."  
  
Terry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, let's hope that no bitter bickering starts up today. Did you catch the looks Ma was throwing at Dad?"  
  
"Terry, shut up." Jesse grumbled sullenly. "I don't think Fulton's very interested in our little soap opera."  
  
"Soap opera?" Fulton repeated.  
  
"Yeah, 'As the Lamps Are Thrown'." Terry cracked, only to get smacked in the head by his brother. "Ow! Well, forget you, too, Jess. Go ahead and sulk; I'm out." And he stomped back to where his friends were lounging on the sofas.  
  
Jesse sneered at his brother's back and leaned against the banister, refusing to look at Fulton.   
  
"Drama queen," Fulton deadpanned.  
  
"What? You did /not/ just..."  
  
Fulton cut him off before he could start ranting. "Oh, stop it, Jess. Everybody's parents get upset over the bills--except maybe rich bastards like my cousins, but that's life."  
  
"Bet /your/ folks never threaten each other with divorce." Jesse snapped back.  
  
"No, but lamps /are/ a frequent weapon of choice for my mom." Fulton smiled, and Jesse reluctantly smiled back. "You and Terry have that old TV and Nintendo in your room with the 'Duck Hunt' game. Let's go shoot things, it'll make you feel better."  
  
"I'd rather shoot that stupid dog..." Jesse muttered.  
  
"You too?"  
  
****  
  
"Aahh! Goddammit!" Fulton yelled at the cartoon hound snickering at him. His arm swung to aim the plastic gun at the dog and shot the little image about five times. It did no good, of course, but satisfied his outrage. "Muttley wannabe."   
  
"You /sure/ that you don't want to play Mario?" Jesse teased. Fulton restarted the game and snapped,   
  
"Yes, I'm sure! I just want to kill," a duck went down, "that stupid," two more spun out, "dog!" And three more ducks were taken out in quick succession.  
  
"Okay, okay. He is the most annoying video game character ever," Jesse conceded. "My turn next."  
  
****  
  
"I hate you!" Jesse shouted at the video game, whacking the TV with the plastic gun. Fulton fell off the bed, overcome by giggles.  
  
"Tetris?" he suggested.  
  
Jesse turned to him, eyes narrowed and breathing heavy. "Tetris." he agreed.  
  
END PART THREE 


	4. Someone accusing someone else of being a...

A/N: Oi. For some reason, this storyline grew from a cute, serendipitous little Halloween tale...into an explation of Terry's absence from D2, and Jesse's absence from D3. ::shakes head:: I'm addicted to epics.  
  
****  
  
Inspirations: Someone accusing someone else of being a 'bog-eyed polecat' / An urban legend / Is the glass half full, or half empty? - phrase or outlook on life   
  
****  
  
"Giving, Part Four"  
  
The six boys were arranged around the living room in piles of blankets and spread-out sleeping bags. Marcus was holding a flashlight beneath his chin, the beam of light throwing eerie shadows onto his face as he finished in an ominous tone,  
  
"So, dude drives his girl home, r'memberin' the report 'bout the escaped murderer. When he got to the girl's house, he went aroun' the car to let his girlfriend out. And he found a hook, just like the hook the murderer was s'posta have 'stead of a hand, hanging on the handle!"  
  
"Aww, that's not so scary," Josh put in. "It didn't really happen."  
  
"Did so!" Marcus protested.  
  
"If you think it isn't scary, Josh, how about /you/ tell a scary story?" Jesse suggested, glaring at the boy. His expression was unseen in the dark, as was the fact that he was leaning against Fulton with Fulton's arm draped over his shoulders.   
  
Josh was replying, "All right, I will!" when the muted smash of something breaking upstairs interrupted him.   
  
Terry's friends all looked to the stairs, and Sammy whispered, "Wha...what was that?"  
  
"Oh, uhm..." Terry stammered, "My...my mom's a little clumsy. She pro...probably knocked down one of the...flowerpots."  
  
A much louder sound, of something solid hitting a wall, refuted this excuse. Jesse corrected his brother bluntly,  
  
"The parents are fighting."  
  
Terry cringed and picked up the flashlight, shining it on his friends. They were staring at him. "Yeah..." he said softly, agreeing sadly, "They sound like they're fighting. Sorry you have to hear this, guys."  
  
Apparently, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Hall cared whether the boys heard them. Mrs. Hall could be heard screaming something along the lines of 'You bog-eyed polecat! You slimy weasel! Dirty rat!' and throwing things while Mr. Hall cursed and stomped and shouted things more like,   
  
"Don't you accuse me! This is your fault, you cold, ugly, stupid bitch!"  
  
Terry kept mumbling, "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," as his friends remained uncomfortably silent. The flashlight beam illuminated a triangular patch of carpet near Terry's hand, forgotten. Jesse suddenly felt Fulton's arm tighten around him, felt Fulton's lips press to his neck, to his cheek. And Fulton whispered,  
  
"I'm sorry, Jess."  
  
****  
  
It was nearly one in the morning when silence fell on the Hall household again. Sammy, Josh, and Marcus had fallen asleep half an hour before, heads beneath their pillows in mimicry of Terry. Terry, though, was still awake, and Jesse could hear him crying very, very softly.  
  
He was awake, as was Fulton. They sat close together in the kitchen, at the table, with a mismatched pair of clear plastic cups between them. Cold water beaded the sides of the cups, sliding down to form a ring of moisture at each base. He and Fulton sat beside each other, holding hands and not looking at each other.   
  
"It was bad tonight." Jesse whispered.   
  
"So this isn't normally what..."  
  
Jesse laughed bitterly, "This is normal. The fighting...it's normal. But tonight was louder than usual, and it lasted longer than usual, too." He sighed, "I just...hoped...that they'd not...not /do/ this...not tonight."  
  
They became quiet. A clock in the living room was heard ticking, in a manner that seemed far too loud.  
  
Fulton leaned in and took hold of Jesse around the waist. "I love you," he whispered in a voice barely more than a breath, "I love you, Jesse."  
  
"Is that enough?" Jesse wondered. "Is it really enough? They," and by the bitterness and anger in his tone, Fulton knew that Jesse was talking about his parents, "must have loved each other. Before. And now, they /hate/ each other."  
  
Fulton sighed. "I won't tell you that it's going to be okay, because it might not be. Not between your parents, and not always between us. But we...we can try." He kissed Jesse's lips lightly. "They might have stopped trying to make it work, but I promise, /promise/ you...I won't. I won't ever stop loving you, and I won't even if you forget that I do."  
  
"Damn," Jesse swore, but smiled, saying, "we're a coupla pessimists, aren't we?"  
  
"The glass is not half full," Fulton intoned solemnly, "and the glass is not half empty. The glass is fucking broken, and we're stepping on the pieces, Jess."  
  
"Hmm..." Jesse mused, "So that's why it hurts so much." His expression turned mischievious as he carded his fingers through Fulton's hair. "Kiss me an' make it better?" he suggested in a baby-voice.  
  
Fulton grinned in response. "Gonna take a lot of kisses."  
  
"Oh, /good./"  
  
END PART FOUR 


	5. A nun, a bad haircut, and Averman's outl...

A/N: The last part was really the end of the 'Giving' story proper--this is more of a bridge to the Christmas story (with references to D2) than anything.  
  
****  
  
Inspirations: Is the glass half full, or half empty? - phrase or outlook on life / A nun / A bad haircut   
  
****  
  
"Giving, Part Five and Final"  
  
A few days after the debacle of Thanksgiving, Terry and Fulton ran into each other at the mall. Well, Terry was with his mother, but she was too busy yelling at a saleswoman about the shoddy condition of some merchandise to acknowledge Fulton.   
  
"Hey, how's it going?" Fulton greeted the younger boy. Terry glanced at his mother, who was waving her pocketbook in the poor saleswoman's face and shouting '...won't pay a cent for this trash! Not one red cent!', glanced back at Fulton and shrugged.  
  
"S'okay," he said blandly. "You?"  
  
"Christmas shopping. It sucks." Fulton replied. "Dunno what the heck to get anybody."  
  
"Jesse likes the 'Ender' books," Terry volunteered.   
  
Fulton stared at him for a moment. "What?"  
  
Terry smiled. "Well, you're going to get him a present aren't you? I mean," and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "you're like his best, best friend!"  
  
Fulton raised an eyebrow and studied Terry with a guarded expression. Terry's expression was one of complete innocence, but the sudden emphasis Terry was placing on 'best friend' was a little...weird, to say the least.  
  
Finally, noticing that Mrs. Hall's tantrum had forced one of the employees to get the store manager to appease her, Fulton sighed and said, "Okay, who's the author?"  
  
"Orson Scott Card. Don't get 'Ender's Game,' he has that already, or 'Speaker for the Dead,' because /I'm/ getting him that one." Terry instructed.  
  
Fulton scribbled the information on a crumpled piece of notebook paper he'd fished from his pocket. "Right. Thanks." Terry turned to get a better view of his mother, who seemed mollified by the presence of the manager, and gave Fulton an apologetic look.   
  
"Well, we'll probably have to go home after this, to save face or something."  
  
****  
  
Fulton walked into Waldenbooks and nearly ran over a nun holding an armful of Jesus books aimed at teenagers. "Oh, sh..sorry!" Fulton corrected himself in mid-word, and caught hold of the teetering stack of books. "I'm sorry."  
  
All he could see of the nun's face between the wimple and the books were her brown eyes. She replied, in a muffled voice, "Take some of them, take some of the books!" When he had complied, she straightened the ones she held and took a breath. "Thank you, young man. Could you put the on the counter for me?"  
  
"Probably none of my business," Fulton began, stacking the books he held beside the register, "but why do you have so many of these books?"  
  
"I am reviewing them to see whether they are appropriate to give to the children in the parish, the ones who are going to classes in preparation for recieving their First Communion, or for being confirmed." the nun told him stiffly. She had that 'I've-got-the-Holy-Spirit' look in her eyes, and her whole stance told him that she was about to launch into a sermon about accepting Jesus Christ our Savior...  
  
"Oh, well...that's interesting. Sorry about running into you like that, ma'am." Fulton apologized again, turning to the shelf of new releases and scanning for the name Orson Scott Card.  
  
****  
  
It turned out that Orson Scott Card was a well-published author, but not in the new releases section. A clerk helped him find the 'Ender' series on the science fiction shelves, of which he bought two--'Xenocide' and 'Children of the Mind'.  
  
While he was in the bookstore, he picked up a copy of 'Rainbow Six' for his dad. Mr. Reed was crazy for military fiction, especially the stuff by Tom Clancy.  
  
****  
  
A few minutes later, he was on the escalator going up to the second level when he heard someone call his name. He twisted around to see Averman behind him, riding the down escalator. The bespectacled redhead waved at him and called, "Hang on, I'll come back up!"  
  
Fulton waited next to the escaltors as Averman weaved his way through stationary shoppers to get back to the second level. "What are you doing here?"   
  
Averman grinned at him. "My cousin Jordy works at General Cinemas, just got me a job as a ticket taker. It's great, 'specially if I have to work late, because there's hardly anybody around then and I can watch movies, and get the leftover popcorn and stuff. What're you doing?"  
  
"Christmas shopping. My mom's idea--she usually won't drive me to the mall, but she has a hair appointment," here Fulton punctuated his statement with a roll of the eyes, "at Supercuts."  
  
"Ooh, classy!" Averman shot back with sarcasm. They both laughed. "Bet she gets a really horrible permanent or something. Make her head look like a Brillo pad."  
  
"Or yours," Fulton pointed out, ruffling Averman's wild curls.  
  
Averman grinned widely, "Dissed by a missing link!"   
  
"You'll never live it down."  
  
"Sure I will." Averman said, "No witnesses except these mindless mallrat consumers."  
  
"The glass is always half full for you, isn't it?"  
  
****  
  
To be continued in "Feliz Navidad"... 


End file.
